Crazy Faith
by sarmi147
Summary: Post Chosen. Others reflect on Buffy’s grief and Spikes journey back to her.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Crazy Faith

Author: Sarmi

Category: Post-BTVS Finale

Genres: Angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy Spike or even Angel but a girl can dream.

Summary: When you love a slayer, you do what you have to do.

Authors note: The title of this story and lyric within is from the Allison Krauss song "Crazy Faith"

Ch.1 Heartburns

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I lit my love and watched it burn:  
Asking nothing in return.  
Except the lessons I will learn.  
From holding crazy faith.

I've been touched by that bright fire.  
Down to the root of my desire,  
While the smoke, it rises higher.  
Glowing crazy faith

"He's in my heart."

What the hell was that supposed to mean. Please, I spent nearly two decades with the boy and all he ever gave me was heartburn.

And I left like she wanted me to. A second front, so to speak. And I told myself that she didn't choose the bleached wonder over me, she just needed me at her back. I tried not to focus on who was at her side, because baked Buffy is supposed to be Angel's future.

I never expected her to show up on my doorstep a few days later, sans Spike, with a gaggle of battered little girls and the Scoobies in tow, asking for a place to crash while they figured out what to do next.

"We won."

That's all she said with a small smile before Fred jumped in to help Willow organize where to put everybody.

I found her later in a room on the third floor staring at her the palm of her left hand.

"You better put something on that or it will scar."

She didn't even bother to look up at me when she replied "That's kinda the idea."

"Buffy, I just wanted to ..."

"Don't."

That's when she decided to finally look at me. And instantly I knew where it was going to lead and my heartburn was back.

"Don't tell me you're sorry, not about him at least. We both know you're not. So just ..don't."

What was I supposed to say to that? And she was looking at me like I was the one who staked him. Like she's the only person on the planet who ever lost someone they cared about. Like she was the only one in the room who ever cared about William the Bloody.

Before I could say anything she was suddenly standing in front of me. Somehow I had forgotten how short she is. She barely came up to my chest, yet the accusation in her eyes made me feel like the small one.

"Did you know what it would do to him? That it would destroy him?" she lashed out with an icy tone.

How could she think that? I was going to wear that god awful thing. It was supposed to me with her in the final battle. She was the one that sent me away. And a horrible thought occurred to me.

"Would you rather it was me at the bottom of what left of the hellmouth?"

And then suddenly she couldn't look at me anymore. And I knew her answer, and I still wish I didn't.

Raw cookie dough in her heart. Yeah right, I think her edges are actually burnt.

"He wasn't supposed to die," and she sounded so hollow that I could almost hear an echo, "not like that, not without a fight."

And when she looked up at me with wet eyes and said "I never even got to love him," I knew that I had been fooling myself, we never had a future. And the heart that I thought was long since broken shattered a little more inside the chest she sobbed against.

And I am sorry.

About him.

Because I know what its like to miss your chance. Because I had somebody in my heart too. Where she has a punk, I have a cheerleader.

But I didn't tell her that. I just let her cry. And then I let her leave, because we don't belong to each other, not anymore.

We both missed our chance, and not just with each other. I might never get Cordy back, but I knew what I had to do when I found him in that sewer.

I worried that his mind was too fractured from the soul and who knows how long in hell. That was until he looked at me with clear hopeful eyes and asked one simple question.

"Where's Buffy?"

I know he is going to be okay now, because she is in his heart to. And the flames of hell are nothing when you love a slayer.

You're not asking if I love this man.  
I know you don't, you don't believe you can.  
Yet I've seen the love open like a dancers fan.  
It's crazy, I know, but my faith says so:  
It tells me  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Crazy Faith

Author: Sarmi

Category: Post-BTVS Finale

Genres: Angst

Disclaimer: Even I am not delusional enough to think that I could own Giles, but thinking about it makes me want to clean my glasses.

Summary: When you love a slayer, you do what you have to do.

Authors note: The title of this story and lyric within is from the Allison Krauss song "Crazy Faith"

Ch. 2 Windows to the Soul

Am I a fool for hanging long?  
Would I be a fool for being long gone.  
When is daylight gonna dawn,  
On my crazy faith.

The questions will not let me sleep,  
The dance is buried way too deep.  
But the bottom lover, lover's keep,  
Made by crazy faith.

"Come in Spike"

I think I was more surprised to hear those three words come out of my mouth than the walking ghost standing on my doorstep. I knew with a deep certainty in my soul that life would surely be a lot easier if he had just stayed dead. The last thing she needs is this pillock barging in on the life she always wanted. Because my strong girl does not need him. She never has. And if that's really true then I'm a bloody Frenchman.

He never takes his suspicious eyes off me as he crosses the threshold. Is it possible for an eternal creature to look both older and younger at the same time? Physically he has not really changed, except for the desperate need for a new bleach job. But he looks so very tired, as if he has circled the earth on foot multiple times just to end up here of all places.

And perhaps he has.

Yet even with all the pain and weariness, his eyes hold that naïve hope that I might hold the answer to the most important question of his very existence.

And before the words ever leave his lips I already know his life defining question. In the end I guess he really is a simple creature.

"Where is Buffy?"

Such a simple question. And in all actuality a very simple answer. But they have never been simple, neither together nor apart. How had Buffy described their relationship? Oh yes, "it's complicated." No two words had ever been truer.

I could tell him I don't know or that she is happy and doesn't need the likes of him and watch all that youthful hope drain from his pained ancient eyes. I could do it. I probably should. Even he will admit that she deserves so much better that him.

But I don't. I've already seen hope fade from green eyes, I have no desire to see it drain from blue ones as well.

_4 months after the destruction of Sunnydale_

I stumbled upon her in the library of the new headquarters for the council. I had been searching for the Dinarian Codex due to a local problem with a gang of Grzanga demon. Nasty buggers too. Needless to say she was the last person I expected to find buried in a pile of books, Willow or Dawn maybe, but not Buffy.

Vampire history books it appeared. And when I stood behind her I could see the subject of her interest, which surprised me probably more than it should have.

_William the Bloody: a Century of Destruction_ by Lydia Chambers.

She looked up at me with cold moss colored eyes.

"This one is probably the most interesting. I have to say I think the author might have a little crush on him. How scandalous," she said in a mocking tone, knowing she was one to talk.

"This is all that left. A body count and a bunch of dates. That and some giggling little girls who think he was some kind of savior…Saint Spike. Oh, he would have _loved _that. I can just hear him now, calling himself a 'poofter.' Whatever the hell that means."

It was the first time I had heard her say his name in months. I could hear an edge of fury in her voice, but about what remained to be seen.

"Yes, well, he did love his bad boy image. I am sure you're right that he would have found his new fan club quite amusing. But he did save the world Buffy, the girls naturally think of him as a hero. I would think that would make you at least somewhat happy."

And she did something else that I never expected, she looked away as if I had shamed her. And that had been anything but my intention. And in that one action I realized how blind I had been to not see it before. Maybe I just didn't want to see it. Under all her disgusted anger and too pleasant smiles was a sadness and longing that I did not think she could possess, at least not for him. All this time I thought she was just having a hard time adjusting to life without slaying, I had no idea it was because of a life without him. I knew she cared about him, but not love, never love. Could I have been so wrong? Had it been staring me in the face all that time?

"Happy. That's why he did it didn't he? So that I could be happy. And I should be, right? I am. Happy that is. I'm happy. How could I not be, I have everything I ever wanted."

Her smile failed to make it to her eyes. It didn't even make it past her nose for that matter. And then she looked at me with real curiosity in her eyes.

"What do your journals say? That he was a killer or that he was a hero. Killer, right? Do you mention that he was the most annoying idiot ever."

For a fraction of a second the smile flashed in her eyes. But it was gone just as quick.

"How he could make me so mad I wanted to stake him, but I never did because fighting with him was so much more fun then killing him. That he got drunk quicker on tequila than Jack…"

And for the first time in months I could see her joy, it was like a mossy dance.

"…that when he was really mad he would drop his left shoulder in a fight... how much he loved cheesy television…how much Xander annoyed the hell out of him but could still make him laugh sometimes…."

But the joy was quickly replaced by grief, a shiny green mirror of everything she had lost. And then her voice sounded as empty as her eyes have looked since we left California.

"…that even without a soul he was willing to give his life for a little girl. Because he loved her. And Mom. And he loved me. He loved me and it killed him."

And before I could even begin to form a reply she was Buffy again, or at least the Buffy she thought she had to be, a slayer who did not miss a cold blooded vampire.

"No I don't suppose any of that is. How could any of that stuff ever possibly help a slayer."

The grief had left her eyes but so did everything else. She simply set Lydia's thesis back on the table and walked out the door, back into the life she was supposed to lead. The normal happy one that he had died for.

You're not asking if I love this man.  
I know you don't, you don't believe you can.  
Yet I've seen the love open like a dancers fan.  
It's crazy, I know, but my faith says so:  
It tells me.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Crazy Faith

Author: Sarmi

Category: Post-BTVS Finale

Genres: Angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Spike but once I had a dream I won them in a game of kitten poker..

Summary: When you love a slayer, you do what you have to do.

Authors note: The title of this story and lyric within is from the Allison Krauss song "Crazy Faith"

Chapter 3: California Dreaming

Love you're losin', those you love,  
Let the hope fly from the glove.  
Do not search the skies above.  
Search your crazy faith

This is the last place I expected to end up. I had to see her. I just needed to know that she was alive. Don't get me wrong; I wanted more than to just see her, but don't I always? That's usually what gets me in trouble. I don't know what I was planning to do after I saw her. Hadn't really thought about it. But this wasn't it.

It can't be real.

Even I could not have dreamed of being here with her in my arms, golden hair splayed over my bare chest.

But it is real.

I can feel her hand on my chest. She keeps rubbing her thumb in a circle over my heart. And all can do is breathe her in. That scent that is uniquely hers, lavender and sunshine. But the scent is now also ours because now my scent clings to her skin just as tightly as my arm around her waist.

Now I know what it feels like to have your soul sing. This must have been how Angel lost his. Nothing could be better that this. Centuries of pleasure are nothing compared to this tiny insufferable girl.

I smell her tears before they ever get a chance to slide onto my chest. She's crying, and in that split second I change from knowing the greatest joy I will ever know to knowing pain I could never imagine.

I should never have come back. All I do is bring her pain. Why couldn't I stay away?

I know why.

I'm weak. I always have been.

I need her.

Once upon a time I hoped she needed me.

And being weak I had to know the reason for her tears. I needed her to confirm that I really am the source of all her pain. I only hope that once I hear it out loud it will give me the strength I need to walk away. A strength I am almost sure I will never find.

And when I ask her what's wrong, she can't look at me. Can't find the words.

As I feel the tears slide onto my chest, I feel her shift. But instead of fleeing from my embrace as she so often has, usually after a quick kick in the head, I feel her squeeze a little tighter with that impossible strength of hers. And while I can't see her lovely face, I feel I quick hard kiss on my stomach right between my ribs.

For once I just let her cry. .

I don't know how long we laid there before I heard a very faint and hoarse "you would have counted forever, wouldn't you?"

Not for the first time, I fail to understand her.

As if to clarify herself, she finishes with the simple statement, almost a whisper.

"147."

Now I know, and I wish I didn't. I have done everything in my power to forget that horrible summer without her. I never quite can. It always looms over me. Haunts me at my every bloody turn.

"Yes."

I know that one day I will have to start counting again. And with that thought, I pull her even tighter to my side.

"I don't count."

I never really expected her to, but some part of me had always hoped she would miss me a least a little. I guess I was right. She really didn't mean it. Just a few pretty words out of pity. Even after those last few nights I guess all I really am is hired muscle. Who would miss a minion or a paid goon?

Is that what this is? Pity? Or did she just need to scratch an old itch?

Just before the fury can consume me, she looks up at me with glistening eyes, and before I can stop myself, I reach to wipe the tear tracks from her cheek.

"Ninety-four."

"Ninety-four what?" Bottles of beer on the wall? The winning Powerball number? Have we suddenly gone non-linear?

"I didn't count the days at first because I didn't think you could really be gone. Not forever. I mean, you always come back. Even when I don't want you to, when I least expect it, you're there. And day never really was our thing. This was."

She does have a point. We always were really good at this. But I still don't quite understand. And my face must have betrayed me.

"I've had this dream 94 times. It's not always the same. Sometimes we're here, but other times we're back in Sunnydale. My house, your crypt. I like those the best. But we always end up here. Like this. Finally like this."

And then, she can't look at me anymore, laying her cheek back on my chest.

"But then I wake up. Without you. Always without you."

She never stops rubbing the circle on my chest. It's as if she is willing my silent heart to beat.

"How did you do it that summer? You once told me every night you saved me. Well, every morning I kill you."

And I see the guilt on her face. The complete and utter knowledge that she is to blame for my fiery demise. How could I ever have doubted her, how could I have been so stupid to believe that my death, or any death would mean nothing to her? And before, I can reassure her that it was not her fault, that everything will be ok, that she did not kill me since I am right here she looks up and silences me with a finger over my mouth.

"Please don't. Don't tell me this isn't a dream. You always say that," she whispers, voice cracking. "Everynight. And every night I believe you, but still wake up without you. Just hold me this time. I promise I will let you tell me pretty lies tomorrow night."

And with that she laid her head back on my chest.

And for once I pray for the morning.

You're not asking if I love this man.  
I know you don't, you don't believe you can.  
Yet I've seen the love open like a dancers fan.  
It's crazy, I know, but my faith says so.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Crazy Faith

Author: Sarmi

Category: Post-BTVS Finale

Genres: Angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Spike but if I did I would hope that they would end up just like this.

Summary: When you love a slayer, you do what you have to do.

Authors note: The title of this story and lyric within is from the Allison Krauss song "Crazy Faith"

Chapter 4 Waking the Dead

Love is lightning, love is ice.  
It only strikes the lucky twice.  
Once so you will know the price.  
And once for crazy faith.

_Safe. Loved. Home. Complete._

_Cool skin and knowing hands. _

_I love you's and tomorrows. _

Beautiful dreams and bleak mornings.

But tomorrows never come. Not really. There is no tomorrow, only this moment without him.

You know when you're having a really great dream and you wake up right in the middle and even though you know it is not going to work you close your eyes tight and try fall back asleep just so you can see what happens next. That what every morning has been like since I lost him.

_Lost him._

As if I misplaced him like a sock on laundry day. I know exactly where his is at. I know because I left him there. Alone.

But you never can fall back asleep. And for that first fraction of a second upon waking you forget that it was even a dream. Because it felt so real, he felt so real.

But it never is. And I lose him all over again. But this time he's the one that leaves _me_ all alone.

And today is no different, except for one thing. Beside no tomorrows there were also no I love you's. I've never done that before. I _**always**_ remember to say it in my dreams because I failed so many times before to tell him. I'll have to remember to tell him twice tonight.

I only give myself a moment every morning to feel the full ache of his absence even when I all I want to do is curl in a ball and cry till I don't have anything left. But I don't, I can't. He gave me the gift of normal and I owe it to him to live it. It the least I can do. It doesn't stop me from wishing I had a return receipt though.

And for that brief moment I try to allow myself to believe the pillow I have wrapped myself around is actually him. But I know its not. We may not have had many nights together but in that brief time I imprinted the feel of him on my very core. I'd say soul, but souls come and go and this definitely feels permanent.

But still I try because it's better than the alternative. And while I know that the pillow that I clutch is not him I can feel him behind me, his presence vigilant at my back, the weight of his hand sprawled possessively on my right hip, fingers feather light on my belly. This happens sometimes in those waking moments, the dreams haunting me even in the morning light. Those are the bad and the best days. Those few extra seconds of bliss only make getting out of bed all the more devastating.

So I take a few more moments to relish the feel of him, knowing I will pay for it later. And as I sink into his presence the hand on my hip tightens as if to draw me closer.

Stillness overwhelms me.

No. It's not possible. He's gone. Have I finally gone off the deep end?

"Buffy?"

And he sounds like heaven and home. And I have missed both so very much, but it's not possible.

"What's wrong, luv?"

He sounds so unsure and concerned.

I can barely breathe, let alone speak, all I can manage is a slight shake of my head. And as much as I can't believe it is really him, I can feel it, with that slayer part, the one that always knew when he was near, the metaphysical what's it that was always Spike's alone.

"Buffy, luv, you okay? You're starting to worry me, look at me, please."

And while the slayer part might be willing to believe he is real, the girl who spent months mourning him isn't ready yet. She has wanted this so much there was no way it can possibly be real.

"No." Somehow she has found my voice.

"No? Why?"

Why? Why he asks. Is he a completely dense? Actually that's a good indication me might actually be real. No, like I said, not possible. Wacko shack her I come.

"Because you're not real. You're just a dream."

"Okay, but remember you left me no choice," And before I can ask him what he means he slides his hand up my body and pinched my arm, that soft vulnerable part, underneath. Hard.

Automatically I sit up from my prone position to face him to demand what he thought he was doing. But before I could release my instinctive anger all I can see is his smiling face, and I knew he had to be real because not even dreams could replicate that smirk. The most annoying one in his arsenal of facial expressions, the one that always to manage to tell me just how silly he thinks I am being and how right he is.

Loves a funny thing.

_You're not asking if I love this man.  
I know you don't, you don't believe you can.  
Yet I've seen the love open like a dancers fan.  
It's crazy, I know, but my faith says so.  
_


End file.
